Jouth Anthology: the Fantastic Flying Saucer Stories

Branded

By Eddie D. Moore

Bill propped his Winchester 243 against the fence and took a long drink straight from a bottle of Jim Beam. He handed the bottle off to Jeb, and rubbed his hands together. Dang Jeb, how long are we going to stand out here and stare at the cattle? I’m about to freeze.

Jeb scooped out his dip and took a swig, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. I’ve lost two head this month. Those damned coyotes better keep their heads down because I’m going to use the next one’s hide for a throw rug.

A coyote howled in the distance, and Bill smiled as he picked up his rifle. That’s more like it. This might not be a wasted night after all.

Jeb placed a fresh pinch of dip behind his lip then searched the hill tops with his scope. I sure as hell hope not; this Remington cost me almost a thousand bucks.

Is that the 700 model?

Jeb spit to the side while he searched. Yep, it’s the 308, and it will take down a Devil Dog from over a thousand yards.

Bill whistled a long descending note. That sure is nic... Hey, what the hell is that?

Jeb lowered his rifle reluctantly and glanced at Bill. What?

Up there. Bill pointed nearly straight up. You see that light. It’s moving.

Damn it, Bill. What the hell are you watching planes for? He gestured across the field. The coyotes will be on the ground.

I don’t think that’s a plane. Oh man. Now I can see three smaller lights spinning around the first one. That is cool as hell.

Jeb shook his head, and continued searching the hilltops and did his best to ignore Bill’s chattering. He vaguely heard the words, Closer, six lights, and suddenly a bright light caused his eyes to pin. Damn it, Bill! Turn out that light!

Jeb squinted and blinked while trying to focus, and as his eyes adjusted, he realized that Bill was not holding the spotlight. Mouth agape, Jeb looked up and into the lights above him. His knees trembled just before they refused to hold his weight any longer, and he kicked over the whiskey bottle as he fell. His hands shook as he raised his rifle, and he fired into the light. Jeb worked the action, ejecting and reloading shells as he fired one shot after another.

A powerful force pulled Jeb’s rifle from his hands, and he watched it spin out into the darkness. He heard it hit the ground in the distance, and then snapped his head back toward the lights. The air itself tightened around him, and he felt his clothes press against him. A sharp pain dug into his thigh as his keys pushed against his skin, and he found that he couldn’t move his arms or legs.

The light grew closer and brighter. He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he tossed back his head, he discovered that the ground was no longer under him. Terrified, he turned his head to the side and glimpsed the ground that was several dozen feet below him. He screamed as the light engulfed him.

Something puffed in Jeb’s face, and he felt a mist land on his cheeks, in his mouth, and around his nose. He coughed, gagged, and spit out most of the droplets, but his eyes blurred, and it became a battle to stay conscious. Darkness pulled on his eyelids, and he strained with the effort to keep them open again.

Absently, he noted a cold, hard surface under him. The lights were still bright, and he could only open his eyes a crack. His body felt like it weighed a ton, and he couldn’t find the strength to move. He saw a cow lying on the floor across the strange room making no attempts to move.

His eyes fluttered, and when they refocused three creatures wearing gray metallic clothing surrounded the cow. Their heads were bulbous and looked too large for their thin bodies. One of them studied the branding mark on the cow’s left haunch, then looked in Jeb’s direction. Panic spiked through Jeb’s body. Head cocked, it blinked three eyes; the two on the bottom first and then the large eye centered above the other two. Its thin lips moved, saying something Jeb didn’t understand, and then it turned its attention back to the cow. They strapped the cow’s hooves into restraints that were at the end of four long mechanical arms protruding from the ceiling.

Jeb blinked twice, and when he managed to open his eyes enough to see the cow, he felt warmth as he lost control of his bladder. The arms holding the cow’s legs spread wide while other arms descended ripping open the cow’s belly. Blood spurted in arcs leaving droplets on the ceiling and dark red streaks across the floor. The arms plunged inside the cow; as they retracted they took organs with them.

Something in Jeb’s peripheral vision moved, and he opened his eyes wide as his heart skipped a beat. One of the creatures was approaching, and Jeb managed to lift his arms defensively just before a hand from nowhere sprayed something in his face. He lost the ability to move instantly, and the darkness returned to claim him. The last thing he saw as his eyes closed was the mechanical arms reaching toward him.

#

Through blurry eyes Jeb saw the flash of blue lights as they reflected off something close to him. His eyes focused slowly, and he heard voices approaching. He felt grass under his cheek, and he blinked to clear his vision. He reached forward and grasped the whisky bottle as Sheriff King knelt beside him and yelled back toward the road.

I found him! He’s over here. Bring the stretcher with you. I doubt seriously that he will be able to walk!

The Sheriff took the near empty bottle from Jeb’s hand and laughed. Damn Jeb. Judging by the story we got out of Bill, I figured you guys had something home grown down here.

As the stretcher was lowered beside Jeb, Sheriff King stepped away and returned with Jeb’s rifle. He looked over the fence and shinned his flashlight over a disemboweled cow carcass, shook his head, and then unloaded the rifle.

Jeb, did the coyotes get your heifer before or after you passed out? If it was after, you are lucky to be alive.

Jeb moaned and rubbed at his left butt cheek.

One of the paramedics loosened Jeb’s belt and spoke with concern in his voice. Do you have pain here?

Jeb nodded, and they pulled down his pants to examine the area. The Sheriff burst into laughter. Is that a tattoo or a brand?

An EMT ran gloved fingers over the area. It looks like he carved off several layers of skin.

Jeb continued to moan as the EMT removed Jeb’s knife from his pocket and handed it to the Sheriff. The Sheriff looked the wound over and then began to laugh hysterically.

Hell, that’s his own cattle brand!

The Sheriff spoke into his vest microphone while they walked toward the ambulance. 10-56, 10-24... You guys aren’t going to believe this one.

Top Hand

By Patrick S. Baker

The light flashed across the sky. The leading edge of the streak grew bigger as it moved. The streak suddenly shot left, then left again, then right.  Then, it seemed to drop to the ground in the west.

What the heck was that?  the younger cowhand asked his companion.

You never seen a shootin’ star before, McCartney? said the older hand.

No, sir. I was born and raised in New York City. Hardly seemed you could see the blue sky for all the coal smoke, and never saw much of the sky at night.

Well, you’ll see lots of stuff like’n that out here. The older man shrugged. Still never seen a shootin’ star move like that one before.

The two rode on across the grassland.

A WEEK LATER

The ranch owner, Whitaker, looked at the empty pasture.

Where did they all go? Whitaker asked his line-boss, Quintero. There were a hundred head here, near enough anyway. 

Quintero shrugged. He was a stocky, stolid and phlegmatic man, his face weather-beaten and walnut brown.

Got my guys looking for ‘em, the line boss said as he deftly rolled a cigarette, using the two remaining fingers on his right hand to steady the paper. He’d left the other two fingers in a trench at Vicksburg. The missing fingers hadn’t slowed him down when it came to working.

Whitaker growled. He hated to lose ten cattle, much less a hundred.

Two men rode up to the ranch owner and his line-boss.

Hey, boss, you should see this, McCabe, the older ranch-hand said. His younger companion, Newman, shy and new to the ranch, merely nodded.

What? Whitaker asked.

You have to look and see, McCabe insisted. It’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.

The four cattlemen trotted their ponies west with McCabe in the lead. 

Half-a-mile west, Whitaker saw what his two men had seen. The grass was crushed and swirled like a small twister had hit. The same odd pattern continued west. All around the trail of bent grass were the hoof prints of about a hundred beeves. 

Newman, you ride back to the ranch-house and get every man who can ride and carry a gun and fetch them. If we aren’t here when you get back, follow this trail. Okay? Whitaker ordered the young man, who again merely nodded and rode away.

Is that boy a mute? Whitaker asked McCabe.

No, McCabe answered. Just don’t talk much.

Quintero, fetch the rest of the men you’ve got lookin’ around and bring them here as fast as you can and follow McCabe and me west.  The line boss nodded and rode away as the rancher and the older man headed west.

The odd tracks went straight toward the mountains.

Boss, I reckon this track is going straight to the Hermit’s Cave. McCabe said after about two miles.

Yep, think you’re right, Whitaker said. Know for sure in a bit.

The two rode in silence under a blue sky for the next mile. In a small valley just before the mouth of the cave they both dismounted.  McCabe had been in the 10th Cavalry, the Buffalo Soldiers, before signing on with Whitaker. The ranch owner had served in the 6th Cavalry under Sherman so both men knew how to scout.

Leaving their horses but grabbing their Winchesters they crouched down and made their way up to the top of the rise. As they topped the brow of the hill, they saw that the weird tracks disappeared into a large cave cut into a vertical wall of stone. From the cave came the distinct sound of cattle lowing and an unidentifiable whirring sound.  Without a word, both men slipped back down the hill.

Well, they’re in there, for sure, McCabe remarked.

We’ll wait ‘til we get some more men. Then we call ’em out.

By the time the rest of the ranch hands had arrived long shadows were stretching out from the mountains. Most of the men were Army veterans and knew how to follow orders and handle guns. All were armed with Winchester rifles and Colt Peacemaker pistols.

Nobody shoots ‘til I shoot, or they shoot first, Whitaker warned his men and they all nodded. That clear?

The boss deployed his men in a skirmish line and they advanced up the hill. Some of the men shifted positions to take better cover.

When Whitaker saw all his men had settled into good locations, he shouted, In the cave, you hear me? I got twenty good men with rifles, so you’re not getting away. Come out with your hands up!

Whitaker felt a tickle at the back of his mind. Then his head started to ache like it was fit to burst. He shook his head and noticed others were doing the same. Then he felt compelled to drop his rifle. He resisted the need to put down his weapon. Three of his men dropped their rifles and lay down on the ground crying like babies. A stab of anger shot through the ranch owner seeing his hands act like babies instead of men.

Hold on to your guns! Whitaker shouted.

No shoot I, came a voice sounding like it had passed through an accordion from the cave. No shoot me. Don’t shoot me.

The whirring sound returned. A disc six feet across, looking like it was made of brass, emerged from the cavern’s mouth, floating just above the ground. In the disc a creature that looked like a blue scaly cougar, about the size of a grown man, with four human-like arms and hands working controls on the disc.

The men that had dropped their weapons grabbed them back up and ones that had been weeping also recovered and stood.

The ranch hand nearest Whitaker raised his rifle to shoot the creature. It stopped and put all its hands up, palms forward.

I could pot it real easy from here, boss, the man announced.

No one shoots, Whitaker shouted loudly.  It’s givin’ up."

Yes, surrendering, the creature said, the voice sounding less metallic and more human with each word.

My flying-ship crashed, it said. My family and I were trying to repair it and we needed to eat. That is why I took your food animals. I would have given back the ones I did not consume.

Whitaker shook his head in disbelief. You speak English?

I took the knowledge from your brains. The laws of my people allow me to do this to communicate and survive, nothing else. The laws also prevent me from harming sentient beings.

Sentient? Whitaker asked.

Intelligent, thoughtful, the creature responded. Like you and me.

Well, I can’t let you just steal my beeves, Whitaker said, moving along. You have to pay me for the ones you ate, at least.

I understand this. My people understand the need to trade goods and services. But until now I did not know you had such an advanced concept. Let me offer you such an exchange. Let us make a deal?

What kind of deal? Whitaker asked.

I will show you how to use my animal control technology in exchange for the beeves I consumed. Further, once my vessel is repaired, I will tell my people about your delicious food animals; the beeves. More of my people will want to exchange goods with you for them.

How can we trust you? McCabe spoke for the first time. You say you can read our minds. I don’t know I like that idea at all. Not at all.

There was a long moment of silence.

Lights in the Sky

By Ken Green

Kathy put the blinker on and turned the steering wheel, guiding her car off the road and onto the shoulder.

Is this a good spot? she asked.

Owen consulted his notes. These reports are sketchy, but, as far as I can tell we’re very close to the sites of the most recent sightings.

That’s great, Kathy said, smiling to herself. Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight. Because I’m ready, Owen, and if you would stop looking at your stupid notes and notice me, maybe we could give up this Mulder and Scully nonsense, and act like a couple of normal teenagers.

Luck has nothing to do with it, Owen scolded. This is science.

Of course, Kathy agreed. Yay, science.

Did you pack the video camera? Owen asked.

Yes. And the tripod, and the tape recorder, and everything else on the list. I even packed us some snacks. And some breakfast.

It looks like you brought your whole house with you, he said, glancing at the backseat, What is all that junk?

I brought some blankets and pillows. We’re in the mountains, and the sky is clear. It’s going to be a cold night. We might want to...cuddle or something.

Kathy, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. This is a scientific expedition, not some kind of slumber party.

I’m sorry, Owen, I just thought, maybe, if the aliens don’t show up, we could...

The aliens are going to show up, Owen insisted.

Of course they are. Kathy undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. I’ll go set up the tripod.

She walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk, gazing at the sunset. It’s so beautiful here, she whispered.

Huh? Owen asked. He had gotten out of the car and was watching Kathy work.

The sunset. Look at it.

He shrugged. I’ve seen sunsets. They happen every day.

Yeah, but...look at it. The sunset, the light on the valley, there’s so much beauty here. Why aren’t you willing to see it?

Those are natural phenomena, easily explained. There’s no mystery here. We’re here to see aliens.

That’s funny, I’m starting to suspect that I’ve already met one.

You’re right, Kathy conceded. Well, the camera is set up. Nothing is going to happen until nightfall. We might as well eat dinner.

#

These sandwiches were a good idea, Owen said while eating one.

Wow. I can do something right. Who would have guessed?

Thank you, Kathy said. Have some coffee. She passed him the thermos.

I don’t like coffee, Owen said.

"It’ll help us stay awake. You wouldn’t want to miss your alien encounter because you fell asleep, would you?

No, I guess not.

Of course not. So drink some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.

He took a sip. Yuck. It’s bitter.

#

Owen, wake up, Kathy whispered. I think I see something.

Huh? What? Where?

She pointed.

That’s not a UFO, that’s the International Space Station, Owen said.

No, Kathy said patiently, The ISS is on a ninety-two-minute orbit, and it slipped over the horizon ten minutes ago.

Owen stared at Kathy, his face a portrait of surprise.

That’s right, Owen. I can look things up on Wikipedia too, despite having a two X chromosomes.

Then, Owen said, "it’s